Two days after my son’s wedding, the restaurant manager called me and said, “We checked the security footage again. You need to see this yourself.” Then he told me to come alone… and not to tell my wife.

Pastor Silas Jenkins.

My best friend.

The man who had officiated my wedding, baptized my son, and eaten Sunday dinner at my table for thirty years. Weddingphotography services

I nearly destroyed the monitor, but Tony grabbed my arm.

“If you destroy this, you destroy your only advantage,” he said. “This isn’t a family argument. It’s a conspiracy.”

He was right.

If I went home shouting, Beatrice would call me unstable. She would say the poison had damaged my mind. Without evidence, I would lose.

So I called my attorney, Ms. Sterling.

“Open a new file,” I told her. “Code name Omega. Freeze accounts, lock properties, suspend trust access, and get me a toxicologist. Test for digoxin.”

Then I went home.